


What Are You Weighting For?

by Stuffy (AlexKingOfTheDamned)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Feast, Food Kink, Holidays, M/M, Stuffing, Voyeurism, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/Stuffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy saw Engie once with his overalls down and it all went from there. He decides that the Engineer could use a little more meat on his bones, and takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is written with the lovely http://tinkeringtexan.tumblr.com/ ~
> 
> If you don't like stuffing kink, TURN BACK NOW

 

The first time the Spy met the BLU Engineer, he’d failed to stab him in the back right after failing to sap his sentry, and took buckshot to the thigh. He was so embittered about this that he actively sought him out, and failed once again to stab him.

 

But the second time, he did get so close that he sliced right through the straps of his overalls, and the whole kit and caboodle fell around his waist. And what a waist it was. He had to jump back to avoid a swinging wrench because he’d been so taken by the shape of the Engineer underneath his concealing overalls.

 

He’s been watching the man for years now, almost five to be exact. He’s watched him grow, both as an Engineer… and more literally. As soon as he started to gain weight and the Spy realized he was gaining weight solely in his belly, it piqued his interest and he’s kept a close eye on him since.

 

Over the years he’s been a source of great fantasy for the Spy. Despite their opposite teams, he’ll often do his best to keep the Engineer safe, for no other reason than so he can continue to watch him grow. His overalls have had to be taken out more than once to make room for his growing gut, and the Spy has kept a careful estimation of his weight and measurements as they’ve changed.

 

He’d never been shy about his attraction to larger people. He rather enjoys being the slimmer between himself and his partner, and relishes in having pounds of fat to grab onto and hold while he makes love. He’d be lying entirely if he said he’d never imagined filling his hands with the Engineer’s ample backside when he watches him bend over a tool box from afar. Sometimes he’ll arouse the Spy more than he can even handle, and he has to bite his hand in a secluded corner of the battlefield so he can rub himself off thinking about grabbing onto the Engineer’s love handles while he bends him over his own sentry and fucks him stupid.

 

Often, the Spy wishes he could take a direct part in the Engineer’s very gradual weight gain. He wishes he could speed up the process, the slow climb of the last forty pounds has been agonizing. If he could just feed him- but he can’t, they’re enemies.

 

Until it occurred to him.

 

Dell seemed reluctant the first time he saw a cake left in his workshop with a note “from a secret admirer.” It was chocolate, and not too terribly large, enough for two or three servings, and decorated prettily with frosting flowers. He’d watched from nearby, cloaked and anxious as he tasted it and waited for a while to make sure it wouldn’t hurt him, and when he didn’t he ate the whole thing at once.

 

Since then Spy has upgraded. Sometimes he’ll leave whole meals in his shop- or even at his camp when he has to trot away from his sentry for some reason. Cookies and pasta, fancy thin-crust pizzas and rich puddings, whole roast quails and high-calorie omelets, anything the Spy can think to make he’ll leave for the Engineer to find, always with a note from his secret admirer. These secret delicacies haven’t been disregarded by Dell’s waistline. Over the course of only a few months, the Spy has already managed to up his weight by at least fifteen pounds, and he aims for even more.

 

Dell has learned to anticipate these treats most days a week, sometimes even twice in one day. The Spy knows sometimes he waits to see if he can catch whoever this admirer is, probably so he can thank them directly for all the delicious treats, but he’s always careful to stay cloaked until he’s absolutely certain he won’t be seen.

 

He likes to imagine the look on the Engineer’s face on those days he can’t manage to bring him a treat, when he comes out into his shop to find nothing waiting for him. It makes it all the more rewarding when he can watch his face light up the next day as he waits nearby invisible to make sure his treat was well received.

 

Today was one such day. He’d been sent on a specialized mission at another base for the past three days. He wonders about the Engineer, if he’s worrying about his admirer, thinking he or she might have been taken by the war. It gives him warmth as he struggles to sleep in the freezing environment at Coldfront and plots his neat treat for Dell.

 

By the time he finally returns, it’s too late in the day to really get back into combat, as it’s only over in an hour’s time. So instead he focuses on speed-cooking the food he’d already half-prepared for Dell and leaves it on his table in his quarters for Dell to find; a massive portion of chicken parmesan over a bed of pasta, beside a cheesecake that could easily feed three people, and a pot of gourmet coffee. All alongside a note that reads “ _From your secret admirer. Sorry for my absence_.”

 

It's been a long day on the battlefield, and Dell respawned more times than he'd a wish to count, but count he does. It's in his nature to count. Twelve times. Twelve times in less than four hours, several times because he was just frustrated and not paying attention to what he was doing. It had been hard for him to pay attention with the constant heavy feeling around his middle. These treats were really packing on the pounds.

 

In the last month alone he'd put on a whopping twenty pounds after wolfing down all those sweets and fatty meals; but he just couldn't stop. It would be rude, first of all, and secondly a damn shame to waste such good food. A damn shame. So he just packs it in, even when he's stuffed from dinner and returns to find a big plate of sweets, he'll sit himself down behind the television and just eat and eat until everything is gone. Sometimes he falls asleep on the couch, sometimes he eats himself horny and jerks off enough to give himself a migraine.

 

Part of him had started to wonder if this 'secret admirer' was into the engineer's particular kink themselves. He told himself that it was just a silly thought, but some part of him can't shake it. He doesn’t even have suspicions. Whoever this was, was sneaky and clean. Dell admired that about them; but they left not a breadcrumb for him to follow. Well, they'd left plenty of bread, anyways.

 

Today, when he returned to his shop, all he wanted to do was have a nice beer and pizza and settle in behind a movie, to wash his thoughts from the day out of his head. So it's a shock, though not an unpleasant one, when he returns home to find his table waiting for him with hot food. Now this, this got his back up. Before he even considered eating, the engineer pads around his quarters checking every place he could think of for a hiding admirer, but to no avail. At last, he comes back to table and read the note. And read it again, and a few more times for good measure.

 

_Well this here's new. How th'hell did they git in? They had t'have picked th'lock._

 

Picked the lock. They must have. He flicks the television and adjusts the bunny ears before he plops himself down in a chair. The TV blares out "Whistlin' In Brooklyn" with Red Skelton. He's seen the movie before, but it makes him no less glad to see it's playing again. It's familiar and comforting, and after the day he's had, he needs that.

 

The food, in a way, is familiar and comforting too, even if he's never been gifted this exact combination before. He pours some of the coffee into the mug provided and savors a long draft of it in his cold throat. The perfect thing after a chilly day. He absently rubs his belly. The feeling of the denim pressed hard against him is uncomfortable just now, so he unbuckles his belt and sighs at the relief it gives him.

 

He's meticulous in how he cuts up the chicken into smaller bites and disperses them around the plate, covering them in noodles. He's not rude, so he tastes it first before he adds pepper to the dish, then, with the movie blaring in the background, he digs in with gusto.

 

He's so hungry he barely notices the flavor for now. He just ploughs into the pasta like it's the only thing he's eaten all day. Actually, when he thinks back, it's the only thing since breakfast that he's eaten. Before long, the messy dish is down a quarter and he continues with vigor, stopping only to wipe his mouth or swig some coffee. His chewing isn't loud, but his moans of appreciation are. As half disappears into him he starts to slow down a little, rolling the bites over his tongue and really savoring the flavor before they pass easily down his gullet.

 

His belly has started to push out more against the denim, each breath pulling it tight against him. With a hard groan he leans back in his chair and lets the fork rest with a loud sound against the bowl. He unclasps his overalls one strap at a time and has to _peel_ them off him. The instant he does, his belly blossoms out another few inches. He's in desperate need to have his overalls taken out again. These have been creating a corset effect on his midsection. When it's finally given relief, he hikes his shirt up without a care in the world and scratches both hands over the expanse and gives it a pat. "Damn . . ."

 

His cock twitches to life as he looks down at himself. He cannot believe how big he's gotten in the last month. It seems . . . well impossible, but considering the way he's been eating, it should come as no big surprise. His gut sits heavy in his lap, presses into it as he leans forward to dig into the pasta once again.

 

He manages the rest, spilling some of the sauce on his naked belly a few times and wipes it from him with the napkin promptly. He can really feel himself bloating up now. Pasta always makes him bloat, and fast. By the time he's down to the last few bites, his gut is just barely touching the table. He's panting and groaning, trying to rub the ache out of his side. He's eaten too fast and he can _feel_ it. It's bubbling up inside of him, the gas bubbles. For several moments all he can do is belch shallowly into his fist. A glug of coffee helps the rest to come out in one big roar.

 

Dell pours himself another mug of coffee and kicks off his shoes. Then, with a mind for comfort, he moves himself to the couch, the whole cheesecake in one hand and mug of coffee in the other. Once he's seated, he rests the cheesecake on his belly and starts in one piece at a time, not even bothering with the fork, and licking his fingers of the excess.

 

The Spy is thankful he was mindful enough to wear his shoes with the leather soles rather than the wood, for they’re much quieter on the floor as he follows the Engineer in order to watch. He’d hidden at a safe distance when the man made his rounds searching for clues from his secret food-lover.

 

Spy certainly feels like his lover of sorts. Especially when he gets to watch him moan and pant his way through the meals he leaves behind for him. Watching him grow as he packed away the pasta has the Spy’s cock stirring, but he doesn’t touch himself yet. He can see Dell’s prick tenting his own jeans, and he’d prefer to wait to touch himself when Dell does.

 

He licks his lips and breaths evenly through his nose as he watches the other man eat bites of cheesecake directly from his fingers. It’s downright pornographic, watching his tongue and lips smack and work the cool creamy sweet cheese around his mouth before he swallows with a wet sound. He’s able to keep from making a sound as he creeps just a fraction closer to watch, palming himself through his trousers to sate his interested cock for now.

 

He imagines feeding Dell from his own fingertips. Peeling off his glove and feeling those whiskers scratch his fingers, his lips and tongue soft and hot as they suck the cold treat offered to him. He almost gives himself away by moaning out loud, but bites his lips to keep every sound inside as he tries to coax Dell in spirit to keep eating, to finish. He knows he will. He always does. Even if he’s too full to breathe right he’ll keep eating if there’s food in front of him.

 

Dell just watches the television and ploughs the cheesecake into his mouth. It's sticky and sweet, but requires so little chewing that he barely notices when he's finished three slices. He clears his throat strategically with the warm coffee, which eats right through the cloying sweetness. He'd a wish for his secret admirer, anybody really, to rub the slowly building ache in his groaning belly.

 

His thoughts distracted him from the movie. Red Skelton's antics went unnoticed as he crammed in piece after delicious piece of the cake. The rich texture was complimented superbly by the coffee, but soon he'd drained his mug of the black stuff completely. The engineer set aside the half of the cheesecake that was left and scooted to the edge of the couch with some effort. A rumbling groan he gave as he hefted himself up and shuffled to the table and poured himself another mug. It was just as much a struggled to get back down onto the couch carefully as it had been to get up.

 

Between the pasta he'd already devoured, and the half a cheesecake he'd just packed away, the engineer was bloating out round and heavy. He'd _always_ been a bloater, since he could remember. Pasta, bread, and especially dairy made him balloon out as quick as you please. So now, he was really feeling it all pressing out against his hairy flesh, the globe straining atop his thighs and rumbling and churning under its heavy load.

 

And he just continued to pack it away.

 

Immediately, he went right back into his fantasy. There was no face to the hands that fed him in it, though he did wonder what his admirer might look like. Were they male or female? Were they themselves fat or thin? He didn't wonder long over the prospects, but got lost in the reverie of gentle hands caressing his belly between bites of delicate cheesecake; imagined what the two of them might do after. The fantasy ate up time as _he_ ate up more of the dessert, packing it away at a steady pace between belly-jolting hiccups and deep belches. With one hand he bounced between rubbing his belly and palming his aching cock. He was panting, groaning obscenely and feeling in desperate need of hands on him.

 

He started to feel hot and set aside the plate for now, mainly to pull his hiked shirt the rest of the way off his body and toss it to the side. While he was at it, he kicked off the cowboy boots and overalls, leaving him in naught but red plaid boxers. He yanked his needy prick out through the opening in his undergarments and let it breathe, pressed hot against the underside of his swollen stomach. Normally, he could see the head of his cock, but with all the bloating, he couldn't see even a centimeter of the throbbing tip.

 

With the plate set aside, he started a slow rub on his belly, paying special attention to his stretched sides and the top, where all the food was settled as hard as a stone. With a groan he leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, pretending that his own searching hands were those of another attentive soul.

 

The Spy’s legs feel weak as he watches. He wants to drop to his knees in praise of the altar of stomach growing before his very eyes. He doesn’t always stay to watch Dell eat his treats, but when he does, he winds up so insufferably horny that it’s a wonder he hasn’t accidentally uncloaked at any point.

 

He chews his leather-clad knuckles to keep his breathing even as he leans against the wall as near as he dares, palming himself desperately through his trousers. He wants to massage that belly, he wants to rub his gloved hands over the tight curve until Dell _begs_ him to remove them with all his heart so he can feel the Spy’s skin on his. And he would, he’d pull his gloves off with his teeth nice and leisurely, revealing the hands that he’ll rub away all Dell’s cramps with slowly like a strip tease. He longs to feel the soft hair between his fingers, the unyielding curve and the soft fat layered on top, he craves the feeling of sinking his fingers through that pillowy fat until he reaches the rock-solid belly underneath, packed with so much food the Engineer is hiccupping and groaning.

 

He wants to fall to his knees and suck Dell’s cock, he wants to finger him open while making orders for him to keep eating, he won’t get fucked like he needs unless he finishes that last couple slices, and Dell would, he would eat obediently. His hips would rock down on the Spy’s fingers while he fills his mouth with the fattening sweet, and then the Spy would lie him down on his couch where anybody could walk in and see Dell so full he can’t move, being plowed by the enemy Spy and _loving it._

 

Spy has to stop rubbing himself when he realizes how dangerously close he just came to climaxing in his pants like a preteen. He breathes a little harder through his nose, he’s almost chewed a hole through his glove, but he can’t be heard over Dell’s own moaning.

 

 _Eat, keep eating. Stop rutting and finish eating, you beautiful creature_.

 

The Engineer, completely oblivious to his unseen voyeur, continues to rub his belly for several more minutes to ease back the cramps that have started. All of the dairy is really getting to him, building up gasses in his belly that have the expanse gurgling and bubbling beneath his hands. His fingers probe south, sinking into the soft layer below his belly button and tease toward the needy shaft below. He purposefully ignores his arousal. Any touch now might have him coming before he's ready.

 

At last, cramps neutralized, he takes up the plate and rests it atop his table of a gut. One bite at a time is brought to his bearded lips. He licks and sucks his fingers clean, nibbles gently beneath his fingernails to get every last morsel. Every so often, he struggles forward for a drink of coffee. The last piece is up. Eagerly, he takes it up in hand and brings the whole thing to his mouth and downs half of it in one bite, a bite which his tiring jaw barely works at before he's swallowing down the thick cream. He pants between chewing and swallowing. As soon as the big bite is down, he shoves the very last bit into his mouth and chews through a satisfied groan.

 

When it's all said and done, he even licks the plate clean before letting it clatter on the end table. With some effort, he swings his feet up onto the couch and lies back, hiking his knees to take some of the pressure off his belly. The enormous curve strains upward in a taut arc that juts nearly straight off his body--and he can still feel himself bloating as his food settles and creates more air inside of him, which he belches up wetly, without so much as an excuse me.

 

"Aah, that was damn good," He says to himself, giving his belly a pat. The thing sounds like a drum under his palm. Dell lets his hands rove over himself, but the switch in position quickly starts to make him sleepy. He takes himself in hand and starts a quick rhythm on his cock-- he comes in no time at all, and is out like a light before he can even clean the come off his belly.

 

Spy waits for several long minutes until he’s absolutely certain Dell has slipped deeply into a food coma. He creeps to the end of the couch, careful not to touch or jostle the furniture as he stands at the end and opens his fly. He peels one of his gloves off and spits silently into his palm. Not his favorite method of lubrication, but it does the job in a pinch.

 

He doesn’t want to get off too quickly, so he tugs himself slowly. From this angle he can’t even _see_ Dell’s face, and that is so unbelievably hot that within seconds he already has to slow his pace. Dell’s belly is so full and noisy, gurgling and burbling like his belly has turned into a cauldron.

 

Spy licks his lips and allows himself to pant a little as his hand speeds up over his cock, his knees locked to prevent his trembling legs from giving out from under him. He wants to crawl over him, he wants to wake him up with kisses and worship and fuck him totally senseless. He wants to grab onto that belly, really feel it under his hands, Dell helplessly pinned under his own weight while he’s filled over and over with Spy’s cock.

 

He imagines how all of that heavy meal is going to settle into more fat around Dell’s belly, and how long he’ll struggle with those tight overalls before he gives up and has them taken out again. He imagines how much tighter his belt is going to be, and if he calculated his calories correctly, Dell should be needing to loosen his belt another hole by the end of the week.

 

Spy comes with a silent, choked noise, ejaculating over Dell’s belly. He would panic, given that he just left his DNA all over him, but Dell’s own release is still splattered over his round tummy and he’s sleeping peacefully. By the time he wakes, he’ll just mistake it for his own come.

 

Quickly, the Spy makes his exit, his legs still feeling wobbly. This isn’t enough, he needs to see more of this. He’s already formulating his next plan as he slips out of the BLU base without a sound.


	2. Chapter 2

Dell has never been much of one for Christmas. He hates receiving gifts-- the giving isn't so hard, but when it comes to accepting gifts from others, he feels awkward and hard pressed to have the 'right' reaction. There are many other reasons that the holiday has not sat well on his mind for the last couple of years, but he of course tries not to be a Scrooge about it. The engineer really gets into decorating and the music, and tries to make his little shop festive and warm for the little parties that he throws once a week.

 

When he first started to see fliers hanging around the base advertising a Christmas dinner, the idea had at first struck him as a bad one. Red and Blu getting together at a ceasefire-he could only hope that respawn would still be up and running in case things got hot and heavy.

 

It worried him, the idea of it, at first. As the month wore on, however, he found himself fantasizing about what sorts of foods might be there, and gradually wondered if his secret admirer would be there. His fantasies about crispy-skinned turkey and roast ham quickly became a flourish of images of stuffing himself silly, possibly within view of this secret admirer.

 

So when the day of the dinner rolled around, he was more than prepared. He'd decided to skip breakfast _and_ lunch, only allowing himself coffee to allay his grumbling stomach. He wondered, as he walked down the halls to the communal dining area, if his admirer would notice that he'd packed on another ten pounds in his ballgut.

 

He'd certainly not had the time to have his overalls taken out, so one again they were pressing tightly against him; but with the mindset he was in, the engineer rather enjoyed the pressure there. He would enjoy having to take his overall straps all the way out-having to peel the denim off his frame and feel his gut blossom out as he ate and ate and ate.

 

When he arrived, the camaraderie was enough to ease any tension that had remained. Here they all sat, Red and Blu, laughing and chatting- though some were perhaps ruffling their feathers for one another, they weren't fighting over it. Just a bit of friendly banter, perhaps at times verging on aggressive. Dell settled into a seat on the far left side the tables, which had been set up in huge square, one end open to give easy access to anyone serving food or drink.

 

As he sat, his belt pressed tight against his belly, the hinges of his overalls strained to hold his gut inside the denim. It seemed like he might just spill out of the sides, if his belly were soft enough to do so. He wondered if anyone _else_ had noticed his weight gain, and for some reason the very thought brought a smile to his face. Who could it be? He wondered, looking around the table curiously. Who could be his admirer?

 

It hadn’t been hard for the Spy to set up the massive feast. He’s had a history of organizing events in his own team, they were used to it by now. And he has more than enough history with the Administrator to get her to just roll her eyes at the idea of a big holiday ceasefire.

 

The hard part had been getting Blu to understand that it’s not a trap or a ruse, and the only way to do that was with _copious_ amounts of food. There’s enough food for every man to eat his fill (and then some) and then bring home his weight in leftovers. Everyone is encouraged to bring food home with them. This is just to mask the Spy’s hope that _Dell_ will bring food home with him.

 

He’s nearby enough. At the next table over and across from the Engineer so he can stealthily watch him as he picks at his own roast quail and potatoes. He’s not particularly hungry, himself. Not for food, anyway.

 

He keeps up appearances by nibbling potatoes off his fork, receiving an ‘eat like a bird’ jab from a soldier on his team, but he pays him no mind as he watches Dell whenever he can catch a safe glance. He sees how much tighter his overalls have gotten and feels his prick stir under the table. He crosses his legs and breathes out evenly through his nose.

 

Dell looks utterly overwhelmed by the titanic amount of food. It’s incredibly charming, watching his eyes try to eat in all the sights before he actually digs in. He looks like he doesn’t even know where to start. Spy imagines stepping up behind him while cloaked, invisible to the festivities, and whispering commands in his ear.

 

_Eat more ham._

_Two slices of pumpkin pie. No, three._

_You can fit more mashed potatoes than that._

_Need a break? Drink this eggnog- drink it all at once._

He needs to slow his fantasies down before he loses his mind before Dell even starts eating. He reaches below the table and pinches his thigh to refocus his attention and eats another roasted potato as he glances over at the Engineer.

 

At first Dell is just flabbergasted by the sheer amount of food. He chuckles to himself, and gives his grumbling belly an absent rub. He wastes no time ladling heaping portions of food onto his plate. Mashed taters and gravy, ham, roast, casserole, biscuits and several slices of pumpkin pie. He was stared at briefly by Hans, who quirked an eyebrow, but Dell doesn't even notice. He's too busy digging in.

 

The engineer isn't necessarily messy in how he eats, but mannered enough to pass as polite at the dinner table. He leans his heavy forearms around his plate and digs into the mashed taters first and savors the way the gravy slips down his throat so easily with the creamy, buttery mash. He finishes that down in no time flat and starts in on the casserole which leaves smudges of thick sauce around his mouth, which are promptly wiped away by the engineer. Bite after savory bite is taken greedily, and washed down with eggnog. It's spiked he notes as he takes his first drink.

 

What's left of the casserole he sops up with a biscuit and leaves not a trace of the heavy sauce. He smacks his lips and gives a satisfied sigh. He can barely be heard among the din of the mess hall. Dell is still looking around the room, trying to spot anyone who might be paying close attention; whoever they are, they're being very discreet.

 

He wonders briefly if they'd anything to do with the meal at all, and that thought alone is enough to get his cock hard under the table. That his admirer could be sitting by and _watching_ him stuff his face. He groans a little and continued on eating.

 

After slicing and buttering a roll, he presses a slice of ham between the two halves and polishes it off in a matter of seconds. He's starving and has been waiting for weeks to attend this thing. The roast is cooked to perfection and falls apart under the gentle touch of his fork. His gums tingle at the prospect of having it on his tongue, so he doesn't make himself wait long to devour it. As easily as it fell apart to the fork, so too does it in his mouth. It's so tender and juicy, he barely has to chew to swallow it down.

 

The pumpkin pie is an easy, smooth treat on his tongue. It requires little work from his jaws and he hums in appreciation of the perfect sweetness of it. Two slices of it disappear into him, and with the first plate gone, he knocks back the entire glass of eggnog in one go, and wastes little time in loading up a second helping of food.

 

The Spy is extremely grateful he had the forethought to literally strap his cock to his thigh with a garter, because he knew by the end of this he would be so aroused that if he stood up he’d accidentally skewer someone. And he wasn’t wrong. Watching Dell eat from a distance has him tingling with excitement.

 

He wants to be beneath the table, hidden from view under the festive table cloths. He wants to be between Dell’s thighs, rubbing his belly underneath the table and nosing against his prick. His stomach grumbles to try and remind him to eat _something_ but he’s too busy staring at Dell discreetly.

 

Spy can see Dell looking around. He knows how curious the man is about his secret admirer. Especially considering most people who admire Dell in any sense tend to just approach him with it because he’s so gosh-darn approachable. He wonders if the man has put together yet that his admirer is on the opposite team. He wonders if Dell has any inkling that he’s met his admirer before.

 

The Frenchman can hardly contain his fantasies. He wants to play games with Dell. Give him a mountain of food to eat, and for every swallow he took of his heaping dinner, Spy would swallow his cock once. And if he came first, he’d have to not only finish eating, but also endure Spy riding him while bound by a cock ring. But if he finished eating first, Spy would fuck him like he craves. Spy has to dab at his neck with a napkin, he’s started to sweat he’s fantasizing so strongly.

 

Dell’s next plate is piled high with twice as many rolls as last time, and enough ham to fill each of them to make four neat little sandwiches. Chocolate pie, deviled eggs, more mashed potatoes, green beans, sausage, and stuffing with another glass of eggnog to wash it all down. No one seems to have noticed yet, and quite frankly he couldn't care if they had.

 

One at a time the sandwiches disappear into his stomach. He eats slower this time, savoring the texture of the salty meat and the smooth bread as they pass over his tongue and are mauled by his teeth. Experimenting led him to spreading mashed potato on one of the sandwiches, and after deciding he likes it, he coats the other liberally. The smooth texture helps the chunks of bread and meat slide into his gullet with little aid from his jaw.

 

He cuts up the sausage and mixes it and the green beans with the remainder of the mash and spoons each bite in, trying to slow his pace. The sausage's rich texture and flavor dances with the others and makes a symphony in his mouth. He hums, leaning back in his chair and rests a hand gently on his tummy, smiling happily and pleasantly.

 

The eggs are sucked into his mouth and the creamy texture of the yolk makes him moan. Whoever cooked all this food, he certainly wishes he could return the favor somehow. Hell, he'd give a man a good blow for food this delicious. . . The thought glances across his brain that his admirer could be a woman. In which case, his face turned beet red at the thought of eating _other_ things.

 

The chocolate pie is savored from crust to whipped cream, each bite as orgasmic as the last. Just as he had done last time, he chugs down the eggnog, a hand on his stomach, and finishes it off with a satisfied sigh and a wet belch. He knows he can fit more, but he'll need a little break. Those had been big plates.

 

As he sat there, openly rubbing his belly through the straining denim, he considered once more trying to catch his admirer peeking. He thought that for certain, if they were into this as much as he reckoned, a good belly rub after two big plates would draw their attention. He peered around for anyone peeking, and thought he caught the eye of an enemy Spy.

 

The Spy panics internally when he and Dell make eye contact. Master of his own features, he schools his expression and gazes at Dell without emotion. He makes it intentionally seem like a nonchalant accidental eye contact before looking casually back down at his plate and cutting a bit of meat for him to chew slowly. The next time he glances up again, Dell has looked away.

 

He breathes out shakily through his nose. He feels so tense, so secret and filthy, that just making _eye contact_ felt like _sex._

 

The spy is decidedly apathetic about him. Dell hiccups, the air drawn into his stomach causes him to belch shallowly. Several more like follow suit whilst he tries to rub the knot out of his tummy. The massive globe gurgled under his touch, churning with the sounds of digestion and bloating out by the second.

 

Spy’s cock is pulsing against his leg, hard and full and needy. God, he wants to fuck Dell. He wants to fuck him right over the table, his full belly pressing down and scattering plates, his face red and embarrassed as dozens of people watch-

 

Spy clears his throat to hide the moan when a few spots of wetness shoot out the tip of his cock. Every time he’s in Dell’s presence he thinks he couldn’t possibly ever be more aroused, and then he’s proven wrong the next time.

 

He doesn’t just want to fuck him, either. He wants to make love to him, slow and purposeful. Rest him on his side and straddle one thigh, holding the other as he enters him sideways with his belly cushioned on a pillow as the Spy slides into him at a leisurely pace until Dell whimpers for him to go faster. He’d speed up and lose his sense, babbling sweet nothings in French and caressing Dell’s hard belly.

 

He can’t go on like this much longer, he decides as he watches Dell chug another glass of eggnog. He’ll burst a blood vessel at this rate.

 

Five minutes of rubbing gave Dell the relief needed to press on. This time, he decided to be naughty and just fill up his plate with every kind of dessert he could fit on it. Cookies, cake, pie, cobbler, cranberry sauce, treacle tart, figgy pudding, sweet potato crumble, pecan pie . . . all piled massively high on his plate.

 

He starts with the cherry cobbler and relishes the tangy sweetness of the dish. The crust accents the softness of the fruit in a way that makes his head buzz happily as each bite passes over his tongue. Between bites, he's panting, belching, and hiccupping as his stomach works to process his already massive meal. The three pieces of cobbler are enough to leave his belly aching against the confines of the overalls. He reaches up to let out the straps but remembers they've already been taken out as far as they'll go. To give himself a little more room, he unclasps his belt and sighs as his belly swells out another inch or two.

 

_Aah, goddamn that feels better._

 

Between bites of cake he sips at the eggnog or rubs his belly. The first slice doesn't take too long to get down thanks to the newfound relief of removing his belt. The second is slow in coming, but he takes his time and mashes the cake together with the icing to make it easier to swallow. _Oh goddamn whoever made this really knows how t'cook. Shoot._

 

After the two slices of cake and cobbler he's feeling particularly stuffed. Like if he doesn't stop he might just pop the straps on his overalls. He imagines them pinging off and groans at the mere idea of being so _full_ that he bursts through his clothes. Dell is belching every few seconds, he's swallowed so much air in the process of eating.

 

And he just keeps on packing food away into his belly. After the last of the dessert is gone, he sits back and moans loud enough for the Heavy seated to his left to give him an apprehensive expression. The engineer finally can't take anymore pressure from the bloating and from the plates that were, quite honestly, enough to fill up the mountainous man beside him. He unbuckles the clasps of the overalls and has to peel the denim away from his belly, and lift it from the tight confines of the garment.

 

When he's freed from the taut fabric, it's as though his belly expands ten fold and suddenly realizes just _how much_ he's eaten so far. The Heavy beside him looks quite alarmed as he watches the spectacle; the engineer has grown several inches very suddenly around the middle. Dell wants to lift up his shirt to give himself a more intimate touch, but his knowledge of etiquette prevents him.

 

 _Oh good lord,_ He thinks to himself, glancing down at the outstanding growth. His face grows hot, he's feeling suddenly very self conscious. The engineer panics and starts to get up from his seat but has a hard time getting up. He realizes his erection is going to cause _other_ problems if he stands up. The poor fellow begins to shake and tremble. Someone is going to notice he's enjoying himself.

 

Luckily for him, another Heavy and an old friend is nearby and recognizes his plight. He comes to the Engineer’s side and makes casual conversation, but Dell knows what he’s doing. Hardly anybody ever pays attention to whoever a Heavy is with just by nature of the big man being there. He’s certainly quite a spectacle in and of himself. He helps Dell to a stand and chats to him idly as he fixes his overalls and belt. He even fixes up a big batch of leftovers – more than Dell could ever eat in one sitting (although he’s bound to try) – and leaves the hall with him.

 

Spy notices them leaving and panics for a moment. He waits for a few minutes before slipping out of the hall as well and cloaks right outside the doors to follow the pair silently.

 

The instant they’re out of sight of everyone else, Dell unclips his belt again and carries it over his shoulder. Spy has to fight not to make a noise to echo the groan of gratitude Dell gives when the pressure is taken off his gut. The Engineer couldn’t be more grateful, but as soon as he’s back at his room the Heavy has to excuse himself to return to the banquet.

 

Spy manages to slip into Dell’s shop while the door swings shut upon the Heavy’s exit. He feels his cock give another pulse as he watches Dell waddle with the heaping box of leftovers, and prays to God he’ll try to eat more now that he’s alone.

 

Dell doesn't make it to the kitchen with the boxes. He flops down onto his couch and is instantly alleviated of the pressure of his immense, gurgling belly. He clicks the television on and sits for a long while, shirt yanked up and rubbing slow circles on his hairy skin.

 

After a while, he reaches for the boxes of leftovers and tells himself, 'Just a little more couldn't hurt.' The first one he pulls off the pile is completely full of desserts; he's absolutely delighted and intoxicated to see it. He salivates as he digs in without thinking much about just how _stuffed_ he already was.

 

The engineer ate and ate, wiping his mouth once in a while with his thick forearm to clear his bearded lips of the gel of cobbler and crumbs of brownie and cake. When his belly gives a groan and a cramp, he realizes he's eaten almost the entire box of desserts.

 

Setting it aside, he works his way off the couch, holding his bloated belly with both hands as he waddles to the refrigerator and takes the half gallon of milk from inside. He doesn't even wait until he's back at the couch to unscrew the cap and chug down gulp after gulp.

 

"Oooh lordy . . ." he groans, patting his belly. It makes a sound like a tight drum and jiggles not in the slightest. "I'm full . . . I'm full . . . oh lord." He sets the milk back into the fridge and flops onto the couch, hiccupping and belching uncontrollably. He doesn't think he can take another bite without running the risk of it coming back up.

 

The Spy hasn’t stopped shaking since Dell opened the box. He had to lean up against the wall just to keep from collapsing. He’s been palming himself relentlessly, watching the Engineer’s belly grow even more. He wanted to follow him into the kitchen to see what he was getting up to, but his gulping was so loud that the Spy could hear it from where he stood.

 

He has to jam his gloved knuckles into his mouth to keep from making any noise as he comes in his trousers. He usually has so much more control than this, but Dell arouses him to inhuman levels. His knees almost give out as his orgasm rocks him from end to end, and he breathes long and shuddering through his nose.

 

He can’t help but wonder if Dell would keep eating if only there was another hand to feed him. If he sat beside the couch and fed the man tidbits from his fingers, he might keep eating, slowly but surely. He wonders how big Dell could get before he had to stop for good and all. He won’t run the risk of uncloaking and surprising the man, though. It’s all forced to stay in his fantasies for now.

 

"Oh hell, enough is enough . . ." The engineer says aloud to himself and makes his way toward the living room. He's huge. Absolutely stuffed, but the heavy muscles of his legs and back support him with great ease. He's carried toolboxes heavier than his gut.

 

He bends slowly and picks up the rest of the leftovers and deposits them immediately into the trashcan. He's had enough. This habit needs to slow down. He'll still stuff himself, but this is ridiculous. He flops down onto the couch and puts his feet up, as usual and slowly is lulled to sleep under the weight of his gurgling tum.

 

Spy’s eyes widen when Dell throws out the rest of his leftovers. There was still plenty of food there! Since when is he wasteful? The Spy panics a little internally, but he keeps himself calm.

 

There’s no need for alarm just yet. He can fix this.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few times he leaves his treats for Dell, he’s not able to hang around to watch him eat them. The Holidays are always a busy time for him, people are always wanting information and justifying it as ‘a Christmas gift to themselves.’ Spy doesn’t complain about the extra work, but using Christmas as an excuse to snoop is a little tasteless, even for him.

 

So when he finally does get a chance to hang back and see the Engineer’s reaction to the basket of gourmet cookies he left for him, he’s utterly shocked to see him carry it right out of the shop and deposit it in the hands of the first man who passes with a merry, “Happy Holidays!”

 

Spy blanches. He’s _giving away_ his gifts? What on earth is going on?!

 

It wasn't as though he'd thrown out every single one of the gifts that the Spy had given him; the engineer still loved stuffing his face, but he'd tried to cut down to once a week or so in order to trim his waistline. There was no offense meant to his secret admirer, but this just had to stop.

 

It had been hard to resist and of course he'd backslid, but after the first week of giving the gifts away, it had gotten progressively easier to lay off the high calorie sweets and dishes. Giving the food away made him feel less wasteful, and it brought joy to his friends- it brought joy to _him_ to see them so satisfied to receive such nice gifts. As far as he was concerned, he was simply spreading the love around.

 

The Spy was less convinced. As far as _he_ was concerned, his love was meant only for Dell, and not to be given away willy nilly. He spent money on those treats for Dell, not for the whole BLU team!

 

He tries waiting a week between treats, but Dell doesn’t even seem that bothered when he doesn’t get anything in a while. And then when he does get another gift, he shares it with someone.

 

This is getting out of hand, the Spy realizes. If he doesn’t step in soon, Dell might start _losing weight_. He doesn’t know what he can do to stop it, he doubts writing ‘please stop throwing away my presents’ on his notes will actually discourage Dell from sharing.

 

Dell was quite pleased when, after a few weeks, he stepped on the scales and had lost ten pounds. It was quite surprising what a combination of laying off sugar and lifting weights in the gymnasium could do. He felt leaner, stronger, and his overalls fit so much better.

 

And he didn't intend on stopping there. After he lost those first ten pounds, he amped up his workout regime and had started to eat healthier foods when he could. Yolkless omelets, steak, and fruits and vegetable when he could get them; and when those treats arrived for him, he often just pushed them off onto Tavish or Scout, even Jane.

 

Spy has started to feel desperate. He can see Dell’s overalls loosening. It’ll take weeks to get him back up to that weight, but he won’t even accept his treats anymore, even when they become even more elaborate and delicious.

 

There’s nothing left for it. Spy has to reveal himself. He has no choice. If he doesn’t step in and stop this madness, Dell might decide to keep losing weight even when he gets back down to his previous weight before their secret relationship started!

 

He has to take matters into his own hands. No more hiding or notes or sneaking around. Dell won’t be able to tell him no to his face. He gets his hands on a whole roast duck and butter-sautéed vegetables over a bed of angel hair pasta, hoping to appeal to his new healthy-eating habit, despite the massive portion. A box of a dozen gourmet donuts are in his other hand when he arrives at Dell’s workshop.

 

Disguise as a BLU Spy in place, he tucks one of the cloth bags under his arm and knocks firmly. He knows Dell is inside. He followed him home, after all.

 

He'd been home no more than fifteen minutes when the knock came to his door. After work visitors were not at all unusual for the Engineer. Many times, teammates and even those from across the base came seeking help with the tools of their trade, or needing a shoulder to cry on. So, when he opens the door to find Spy standing there with his feast he is rightfully shocked.

 

"Uh, can I help ya amigo?" He inquires, shifting from one foot to the other as he surveys the man before him. There's a growing suspicion in the back of his mind.

 

“May I come in?” Spy asks, he doesn’t want to reveal himself in the hallway. He looks from side to side to make sure he’s not being watched when Dell steps aside and gestures into his shop. Spy inclines his head in a polite nod and steps inside. When Dell closes the door behind him, he leans across the shorter man and locks it.

 

Without a word, though he know he is being watched curiously, he paces across the workshop to the nearest table and sets down his parcels. With a flourish, he pulls out his spytron and opens it with a click.

 

“I am sure you are catching on to why I am ‘ere by now,” the Spy says, looking coyly at Dell out of the corner of his eye. “You ‘ave been very inconsiderate, tossing away my gifts. I spend my ‘ard earned money on zem and you give zem away. I never thought you would be so careless with a man’s feelings.”

 

The Engineer blanches and his mouth runs dry. All of his suspicions are confirmed in a manner of seconds. "It weren't nothin' personal." He says, coming forward to stand a little closer to the Spy. "I wuz gainin' weight somethin' fierce and my clothes weren't fittin' proper." Dell noted that his voice had taken on a distinctly whiny tone and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to collect himself. "I'm sorry."

 

The spy doesn’t say anything. With a swipe of his finger and a bright shimmer and a swath of smoke, the blue of his suit and balaclava vanish, replaced by a deep, ruddy red. He can see the shock on Dell’s face as he slips his spytron back into his inside coat pocket.

 

“I know you were gaining weight,” he says before Dell has even a moment to comment on this new development, and he turns to the shorter man. “Zat was my intention.”

 

Dell takes a step back from him when he sees the ruby wash in from blue. "Listen buddy, don't'cha reckon that ain't fair to me? I should have a say as to whether or not I git bigger an' in my opinion I'd gained too much. That's only fair, ain't it?"

 

Spy’s lip twitches slightly, but he holds back a grimace. “I _suppose_ ,” he says reluctantly, drawing out the syllable as much as he can. “But you were so ‘appy when you were indulging in my treats, were you not? I am ‘ere to bring zat ‘appiness back.”

 

He opens the parcel and reveals the feast he brought for the Engineer, washing him with the delicious scents. He can see Dell’s nostrils flare.

 

“I am propositioning you directly,” Spy continues, stepping closer to Dell and placing a hand on his waist that has Dell’s face lighting up. “I want to be your feeder. Will you let me feed you, Dell?”

 

Until recently, never in his life had anyone known about his dirty little secret, and here was this Spy standing there, offering that. He swallows hard, looks from the food to Spy and back again, calculating in his mind the consequences of this relationship. Not only will he be allowing someone into a very secret part of his life, there was every chance he would gain all that weight back- that he'd get even fatter than before.

 

But this was tempting. Too tempting. Slowly he nodded, a smile growing on his face. "I . . . yes."

 

Spy grins and takes Dell’s bearded chin in his hand, stooping into his personal space close enough that his lips nearly ghost the Engineer’s, and he feels the smaller man melt a little bit. By nature, Spy has always been a smug man, but this is reaching new heights, even for him.

 

“Well then, petit,” he says, his voice curling like the smoke that so often follows him. He picks up a sauce-drenched broccoli by the stem between two gloved fingers and holds it up. “Shall we begin?”


End file.
